


I Would Be Delighted

by ladyphlogiston



Category: Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M, Manners Dissonance, Soulmarks, Texting, Time Travel, Values Dissonance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26638603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyphlogiston/pseuds/ladyphlogiston
Summary: The time-traveling soulmark Sense and Sensibility fic that everyone keeps telling me is crack.  It still seems perfectly logical to me.
Relationships: Colonel Brandon/Marianne Dashwood
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	I Would Be Delighted

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a soulmark story! Soulmark stories, for those who don't know (hi, Mom and Dad!) are stories in a universe where people are born with (or naturally develop) marks on their skin that assist them in identifying their soulmate. The idea seems to have been inspired by a 2011 indie movie called TiMER, which used a device that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate, but the trope has evolved with time. In this story (like many others) soulmarks have the first words your soulmate will say (or write) to you. 
> 
> Anyway, I was reading an MCU soulmate story to my husband, and it got me thinking about the confusion that would result from an emoji soulmark. Bucky or Steve would be the obvious choices for such a story, but at the time I was still writing stories for sophibug, and she doesn't really read MCU, sooooo…. Colonel Brandon it is. See? Logic. 
> 
> Oh, and Brandon's whole backstory with Eliza and his brother and stuff? That never happened in this story. Eliza and George Brandon got married and lived contentedly, if not happily, ever after. 
> 
> Also I apologize for any gaps in my research. I kind of didn't care. I'm not even sure Applied Sociology is a real thing.

Mr. and Mrs. Henry Brandon of Dorsetshire were delighted by the arrival of their first son. He came into the world strong and loud, with a tuft of dark hair and his soulmark already clear on his wrist. It said, _good day, sir_ , and what could be more delightful than that? A polite greeting, easily adjusted to fit any number of genteel women. With such a soulmark, it would be easy to arrange an advantageous marriage. They named him George, after the king, and looked forward to a time when the family fortunes might be restored.

Their second son, Charles, was also good fortune, of course, but somehow not quite as delightful. He was a calm baby, with a clear, thoughtful gaze. His soulmark puzzled them, as it appeared to be a sequence of small pictures: a dancing girl, a cake, a triangle with some small shapes that might mean anything, and a fist with the thumb extended. Fanny fainted at the sight, and the maid assisting the accoucheur had hysterics. Henry rather felt like having hysterics himself, but instead he slapped the maid and ordered the soulmark covered. Nobody ever spoke of it again.

After George and Charles came Amelia and Katherine, both of whom had perfectly normal soulmarks. When Henry's sister and brother-in-law died, leaving their considerable fortune to their daughter Eliza, Henry and Fanny were quick to welcome her into their home. She would be a playmate for Amelia and Katherine, and in time, a wife for George.

Charles was a solemn and sensible child, and grew to a solemn and sensible young man. They never discussed his soulmark, and he never mentioned it. As he got older he showed signs of an attachment to Eliza, so his parents bought him a commission and packed him off before he could argue that Eliza resembled the dancing girl on his skin. By dint of insisting that they clearly remembered Eliza and George saying each other's Words, Henry and Fanny arranged the marriage without any fuss.

Charles Brandon shipped out to the East Indies, and fought hard there, protecting British interests. He was recognized for his calm good sense, and steadily rose through the ranks. By the time he was reassigned to the Mediterranean to fight Napoleon's forces, he was a seasoned Colonel.

It was in Abukir, Egypt that Colonel Brandon, rallying his men in the streets, tripped over a half-buried wall and hit his head and knew no more.

\-----

The first thing Charles was aware of was the sounds. There was a strange tone nearby, a single high-pitched note repeated at regular intervals. The pitch made him think of a flute or a fife, but the sound was too harsh for that. The endless repetition was as grating to his senses as a dripping roof.

Attempting to ignore the repeating note, he could hear indistinct voices in the room next door, as well as a strange low continuous hum. The air smelled odd too, he realized. It smelled flat and empty, with a harsh medicinal note.

Eventually Charles opened his eyes. He was lying in a crisp white bed, but that was the only recognizable object in the room. Cool white light came, not from a lamp or candle, but from a flat square in the ceiling. A variety of strange boxes stood near the bed. His arm was tied to a series of strange cords by sticky paper strips.

He frowned, wondering what to do next. The situation was wholly unfamiliar. He had never seen anything like this in all his travels, and he had never heard of Napoleon's France using anything like this either.

The door to his right swung open, and a black-haired man in a white coat stepped in. "Oh good, you're awake," he said, coming forward and peering at the strange boxes as if they could answer all his questions. Apparently satisfied, the man turned back to Charles. "I'm Dr. Shipman. How do you feel?"

Charles took stock of himself. "Sore," he decided.

"Understandable," the doctor commented, slipping a band of fabric around Charles' free arm. "This will squeeze your arm and measure your blood pressure, by the way. Any headache?"

"A slight headache."

The fabric did indeed squeeze Charles' arm, making a series of strange noises as it did so. Charles' frown deepened, but the doctor was watching the dial connected to the fabric and didn't notice.

Eventually the squeezing stopped and the doctor began removing it from Charles' arm. "That's all in order. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?"

Charles did so. "Yes."

"Excellent." The doctor pulled a short stick from a pocket, and suddenly a small but bright light was shining in Charles' eyes. He squinted against it, and the light disappeared.

The door opened again, and another man came in. This one had blond hair and bright blue eyes and wore a dark suit of peculiar cut. "The nurse said he was awake?"

"As you see," the doctor replied, waving the newcomer in.

"I'm David McCockrie," the man introduced himself. "I'll let the doctor finish his examination, and then we'll get you squared away."

"Is your vision normal?" the doctor asked next, "any seeing double, or unusual blurring?"

"No."

"Do you remember your name?"

"Colonel Charles Brandon, of the 42nd Foot."

David murmured in excitement, and pulled out a small device.

"Hmm." The doctor moved on to grasping and flexing Charles' hands, arms, and legs, occasionally telling him to push in this direction or that, and eventually helped him slowly sit up. "Well, you seem as well as can be expected, physically anyway. I'll turn you over to David now, and send up a bowl of broth shortly."

"Excellent!" David replied, and came forward to sit by the bed.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Well, as I said, I'm David McCockrie," David said, leaning forward to shake Charles' hand energetically. "I'm afraid I've got the tricky part here, but I've discussed it with a few experts and we believe it's best to rip the bandaid off. You're not in the 1810's anymore. The date is November 20th in the year 2017."

Charles stared at the man. He didn't look insane. Annoyingly cheerful, perhaps, but not insane. And while this story of his was clearly impossible, Charles didn't exactly have a better explanation for the strange room.

The man was talking again. "....hard to believe, but I expect we'll be able to prove it once you're up and about. In the meantime, if you can take it on faith, we can get on with things."

"Indeed. Where am I, exactly?"

"We're in Oxford, in the New Sciences Building of Kings College. You were found in a college-funded archeological survey in Egypt, and they brought you back here. Nobody is exactly sure what happened to you, but the bio geeks are all very excited about it."

"And you said it is 2017."

"That's right. Don't worry, though, it's my job to help you get things figured out. I'm a grad student in Applied Sociology, so my advisor loaned me for the purpose. I was lucky to get it; you've really got the whole place buzzing. Everyone wants to talk to you: the bio people, the psychology people, the history people, you name it. They'll be delighted, by the way; Colonel Charles Brandon was on their shortlist of people you might be. They've been trawling through records trying to match your insignia and location to the lists of men lost in action. Though apparently you're listed as having no soulmark, which threw them. Perhaps the mark is new?"

Charles felt rather overwhelmed by the rush of information, but at that he covered his soulmark with his free hand. "It's not new. I....prefer not to speak of it."

"Oh, okay. That's fine. No worries. So like I said, you've got a bunch of appointments scheduled for the next few days. And in between that, I'll bring down some books so you can get up to speed. Is there anything you particularly want? I figure some recent history would be good, and maybe the rest of the war with Napoleon?"

"Yes, if you don't mind. I imagine those will keep me busy for a while. I wouldn't mind some poetry as well, if you can. I have--" Charles paused, then continued, "had a dear friend who liked poetry."

"Sure thing. Anyone in particular?" David pulled out his small device again and jabbed at it several times with his finger.

"She was very fond of Shakespeare's sonnets."

"Sure thing," David said again. "I'll get you Shakespeare and maybe a few more recent poets. I've ordered you some clothes as well, nothing much, but enough to leave the room in so you can pick out clothes you actually like. That'll be a trip. Fashions have changed a ton since your time. They'll be here tomorrow. Money is actually a bit tight at the moment, but last I heard the law people thought they could get you the modern equivalent of your military pension, and once that comes through we'll be all set. Thankfully the various departments with an interest in your care have all chipped in a bit to cover the gap."

"I appreciate your concern. May I inquire about the amount of the pension? It would be well to plan wisely."

"They're not certain yet, but they think it might be as much as fifty thousand a year," David began, making flicking motions at his small device again.

Charles made a strangled sound. David looked up to find Charles staring at him, wide-eyed.

"No, not like that," David hastily explained, waving his arms, "Money....I should have looked up the inflation rate before. Money isn't worth as much now. Fifty thousand is....well, for a single man it's comfortable. If you wanted to raise a family on it? I mean, you could do it, but you'd be tight."

"Ah." Charles relaxed. That seemed reasonable. He wouldn't want to live on charity, but his pension was money he had earned. It was a shame that the prize money he had saved over the years was no doubt long gone.

There was a knock on the door, and a man entered carrying a tray.

David stood up. "Right. Well, I think that's all the important things. I'll go get those books, and you should eat your soup. It's a very great pleasure to meet you, sir."

Charles nodded to David, and turned his attention to the broth on the tray. The spoon was a flimsy white material, and the broth salty and curiously tasteless, but he was accustomed to eating what he was given. He ate, thanked the man when he removed the tray, and drifted off to sleep.

\---

The following days were something of a blur. Charles couldn't tell the scientists anything useful about his experience, but he was happy to answer whatever questions the historians had. He was examined by doctors and dentists (the latter caused some confusion until David explained that modern dentists could do things to strengthen and heal existing teeth, not just pull aching teeth), and he worked with a physical therapist to regain his strength.

He was slowly adjusting to this new culture. David had been worried about his reaction to professional women, but the books on recent history had prepared him for the shock, and no one seemed offended by his accustomed grave courtesy.

In the meantime, he waded his way through a legion of small adjustments. The food was different. Some of it was better, some was worse, but none of it was quite what he was accustomed to. Beer was served cold, which seemed entirely wrong. Every step of his daily ablutions was different, from washing to shaving to cleaning his teeth.

The clothes were different too. David had purchased loose, shapeless breeches called sweatpants, and skimpy shirts that made Charles deeply uncomfortable. David eventually found shirts with proper sleeves, but Charles still felt awkward wearing what was clearly an undergarment. He was immensely grateful when the pension money began to come through and David helped him purchase a few suits. They were still oddly cut and loosely tailored by his standards, and the necktie made him feel like a laborer, but Charles was grateful to finally feel dressed.

Today, David had arrived with a box the size of a book, and Charles watched him busily open the box and extract a small device similar to the one David always carried. Once it was arranged to his satisfaction, David looked up and grinned.

"Today, I'm going to introduce you to the internet! You'll like this. You've probably seen references to the internet in your books? Or to things happening online?"

Charles nodded. "I have, though without sufficient explanation of the term. I had intended to ask at some point."

"Of course, but the internet is important enough to spend a few days on it," David replied, pulling out his own device and glancing at it. "So, you're familiar with the concept of a lending library, correct? A collection of books, and members can borrow them a few at a time?"

"Indeed."

"Right. So imagine that you had access to a lending library, but instead of going to an actual building, you had a magic pipe or tube in your study that connected to the library, and to get a book you would write your request on a slip of paper and drop it in, and the book would be sent to you immediately. You with me so far?"

"It sounds very convenient."

"Oh, it is. And imagine further that you could send a question, and the library would copy out pages of books with relevant information."

"Why not simply send back the answer?" Charles asked.

David shrugged. "Sometimes it works that way, but the imaginary library clerks aren't that bright."

Charles chuckled. "Very well. Anything else?"

"Yes, imagine further that people can submit things to the library - diary entries, letters, poems, anything they like - and other people can request them and read them. If they want, people can even converse that way, with each person writing their answer below the previous statements."

"How very peculiar. That seems rather vulgar, to be honest, to publish things in such a way."

David grinned. "Well, you're not wrong. Anyway, all that was completely and totally incorrect, but it's the best I can do to give you an idea of what the internet is. This," he lifted the device from the table, "is your new smartphone. In addition to accessing the internet, it can also be used to send and receive messages to other people, and even to speak with them when you are not in the same room."

Charles' eyebrows rose. From the way David used his device, he had assumed it was just for taking notes. It seemed these smartphones were rather more complicated than he had anticipated.

\---

Learning to use the smartphone took several days. Charles struggled with swiping at first, and the letters for typing were arranged in a nonsensical order. But slowly he began to get the hang of coaxing the phone to do what he wanted.

Google turned out to be fairly simple to use, and Wikipedia was invaluable. Charles spent quite a bit of time browsing through Wikipedia.

David showed him how to call, email, and text. Calling was disorienting: Charles disliked speaking to someone without being able to see them. Video calling was a bit better, but still deeply strange. Email and text were a little more comfortable, and Charles began texting David his questions during the evenings.

David showed Charles social media and discussion forums, but Charles found them unbearably vulgar. The anonymous masses, constantly shouting at each other, did not appeal to him. He quickly retreated to the quiet of Wikipedia.

\----

Charles was looking at online listings for apartments that David had suggested when he got a text from an unknown number.

+💃🎂🎉👍

Charles stared at it, then rose, locked the door, and hastily stripped off his shirt to compare the text to the marks on his upper arm. He sat there, stunned.

It had never occurred to him that the existence of texting and the internet might affect soulmarks. He knew soul words could be written instead of spoken, but texted? It was mind-boggling.

The little pictures....David had mentioned them, hadn't he? They were called emojis. David occasionally included a strange smiling face in his texts, but Charles found them unnerving. Apparently his soulmate felt no such hesitation.

His soulmate! He'd been staring at his arm and completely forgotten to respond to the text! He picked up the phone and saw that another text had arrived.

\+ Hey, you said 7 at Cubanisimo, right?

Clearly there was some misunderstanding. Charles tapped out a response.

\+ I beg your pardon, but I have not the honor of your acquaintance.

The reply took a while to arrive.

\+ Holy shit, dude  
\+ Wait, is this Katie?  
\+ Because those are my Words

Charles let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

\+ And your emoji message was mine.  
\+ I believe you inadvertently entered the wrong number.  
\+ Or rather, the right one, as it happens.

The reply texts came quickly.

\+ OMGOMGOMGOMG  
\+ You're my SOULMATE  
\+ We have to meet up  
\+ I'm going salsa dancing with some friends tonight, you should come!  
\+ It doesn't matter if you can't dance, there's a lesson first  
\+ You have to come  
\+ Wait, where are you? I'm in Oxford  
\+ And I'm Marianne. Marianne Dashwood. I should have said that.

Charles endeavored to keep up. Several texts were started and then erased as her questions poured in.

\+ I am in Oxford  
\+ My name is Charles Brandon.  
\+ I would be delighted to meet you, but there are certain circumstances that you should be aware of  
\+ Before we meet, I mean

Marianne had added a photo to her last text, and Charles tapped it. She was a pretty girl, with smooth brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She was wearing a form-fitting primrose-colored top.

Charles reached over to the desk. David had shown him how to take a photo, and he had noted down the instructions but hadn't had a use for the skill. He flipped through his notes and found the page.

Charles was still working out how to take a photo of himself when the next texts came through.

\+ Oh, never mind that  
\+ We can go into all the circumstances later  
\+ I just want to meet you  
\+ I have to go to work now anyway  
\+ I'm a yoga teacher, by the way  
\+ What do you do?  
\+ It's 7 at Cubanisimo on James Street.  
\+ We're going for Amal's birthday but it's a big casual group, nobody will mind if you come  
\+ And I want to meet you!

Finally he had a photo of himself. He frowned over it. He'd have to ask David to take a better one.

\+ Very well, I will meet you there.  
\+ Until tonight, madam.

Her reply was a single emoji.

\+ 😘

He frowned over it, but she didn't add anything else. Charles got up, feeling restless, and opened his wardrobe.

David couldn't get back soon enough.

\---

Charles smoothed his lapels nervously. He and David had ventured into the city a few times, but this was his first time out unaccompanied. The men around him weren't wearing ties or suit jackets, as David had predicted, but Charles had been adamant. He wasn't going to meet his soulmate half-dressed.

He scanned the crowd, looking for Marianne. David had helped him take a better photo and send it to her, so hopefully she would recognize him. The place was crowded.

"There you are!"

Charles turned to see Marianne bounding towards him. He put out his hand instinctively, and was rather shocked when she threw her arms around him and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. His hands landed on her back somehow, but she pulled back to look up at him before he could consider doing anything further.

Her hair was pinned on top of her head now, though not in the neat braids and rolls he was accustomed to. She wore the blue trousers everyone called jeans and a purple top that left her shoulders mostly bare.

"You're older than I thought. How old are you?" she asked.

"I'm 35," he responded automatically.

"That's not so bad," she decided. "I'm 25. My cousin says she has a friend whose soulmate is over forty, and it's super awkward for them." Her big brown eyes scanned his face. "Where did you get this scar?" she asked, reaching up to touch the small line on his jaw.

Charles cleared his throat. "In Egypt. My men and I were caught in an ambush on the way to Cairo. I don't actually remember exactly how it happened."

Her eyes widened. "Are you military?"

"I was, until recently. I'm retired now," he explained.

"Oh, okay." She didn't seem quite sure what to say next.

Charles pulled a small box from his pocket. "I believe flowers are traditional, but I didn't want you to have to take care of them in a crowded club." David had been quite firm on this point.

Marianne took the box and opened it, smiling when she saw the glittering bracelet. "It's lovely! Thank you. I have a gift for you too - hang on." She opened her purse and began rooting through it. After a moment, she extracted something and handed it to him.

Charles looked at his hand. She had given him a blue rock. It was smooth, and felt rather good in his hand, but he had no idea what it was for.

He looked back at Marianne. She was biting her lip, but stopped when she met his eyes. "Is it okay?" she asked. "It's lapis lazuli. It's good for honesty and communication and strong relationships. A lot of girls go with rose quartz, but I've always felt a connection to lapis lazuli. And other blue stones, really, though of course sapphires are out of my budget. Anyway, I've been charging this one for ages, with hopes and good wishes and things, and...." she trailed off, looking anxiously up at him.

Charles smiled, and carefully put the rock in his pocket. "It's perfect, Miss Marianne. Thank you."

"You're welcome!" she cried, her smile blindingly bright. "I think we need to go over there now, the lesson is about to start!"

"Very well," Charles replied, offering her his arm. She giggled, but took it and they moved to join the dancers.

"That's Amal over there," she commented, pointing to a tall dark-skinned woman closer to the bar. "And Katie is next to her, with her soulmate Xander. I'll introduce you when we have the cake later. When's your birthday, by the way?"

Charles glanced down at her. "April 25," he replied.

"You're a Taurus? That's perfect! I'm a Cancer, and those signs are awesome together!"

Charles furrowed his brow and was about to ask what she was talking about, but the salsa instructor called the class to order.

\---

It hadn't gone too badly, Charles thought. Salsa dancing had been....unexpected. He had told David he knew how to dance, but he had been expecting some variation on the jigs and reels danced at home. He'd been completely flabbergasted to discover that modern dances involved placing one's hands on a lady's body.

However, he had taken a deep breath and covered his shock as well as he could. Certainly it was no punishment to have Marianne in his arms. The steps were simple enough, and the music was lively, if unfamiliar. The repeated injunction to "work those hips" was indecipherable, but aside from some teasing about how stiff he was, Marianne hadn't seemed to mind.

Marianne. She was wonderful. He loved how she delighted in life, how she laughed freely and spoke openly and laughed when she danced. She had introduced him to her friends, and he had enjoyed their company well enough, but his eyes were constantly returning to the play of emotions on Marianne's face. He wasn't sure what she thought of him: she seemed inclined to tease him about being solemn and stiff, and he could not tell how strongly she meant it. But he had enjoyed her company.

\---

Charles' first action when he woke up the next morning was to text Marianne.

\+ Good morning, Miss Marianne.

He waited for a while, but she didn't reply. He sighed and put his phone back down.

Charles had breakfasted, showered, run through his physical therapy exercises, and was well into the Dave Ramsey book David had gotten him when Marianne replied.

\+ Wow you wake up early  
\+ Good morning to you too

Charles smiled, remembering the trouble he'd had shifting between military hours and the daily schedule kept by fashionable London. At least some things hadn't changed.

\+ I apologize, I did not intend to disturb you.

The answer came almost immediately.

\+ Not a problem, dude  
\+ Do you have anything planned for the day? I have a couple of classes to teach, but we could meet for a late lunch

Charles fidgeted with his tie briefly, then answered.

\+ I really do think we need to discuss my circumstances.

This time the answer took a little longer.

\+ Ugh. Seriously?  
\+ Fine. We can discuss circumstances  
\+ I guess it's probably just as well that one of us cares about money and stuff  
\+ We could talk about it over lunch?

Charles breathed a sigh of relief. It would be good to get the explanations out of the way.

\+ It would be easier to explain if you were to come here. Can you come to the New Sciences Building of Kings College after your classes?  
\+ I believe I can arrange for lunch, if that would make the plan more palatable.

The reply was quick.

\+ Fine. I'll be there around 1:30

Charles tapped out his reply.

\+ I look forward to it.

He put down the phone and stood to pull on his jacket in order to go find David and make the necessary arrangements. As he left the room, he picked up the lapis lazuli Marianne had given him and put it in his pocket. She had said she wanted honesty, after all.

\---

Charles paced back and forth across the lobby of the New Sciences Building. David had procured a spread of sandwiches, which was arranged in the room allotted to Charles. It seemed oddly informal to Charles, and he deplored the lack of a madeira or ratafia to offer to Marianne, but David assured him that sandwiches and tea were usual now.

The door opened, and Charles turned. Marianne stepped in, looking like a breath of fresh air. Her hair was pulled back again, and she wore a dark blue tank top (Charles had finally looked up women's fashion) and soft black pants that showed off the curves of her lower limbs. A soft pink crystal hung from a silver chain around her neck.

"Thank you for coming," Charles said, and stepped forward to kiss her hand.

Marianne giggled, and Charles remembered too late that David had told him men no longer kissed ladies' hands.

"I'm sorry," he said, rather flustered. "I forgot....well. I am glad to see you."

Marianne smiled up at him. "I'm glad to see you too."

David coughed, and they turned towards him. "This is David McCockrie, my assistant," Charles introduced him.

Marianne and David greeted each other, and the three of them walked through the halls to Charles' room.

"Do you work here?" Marianne asked.

"Not exactly," Charles replied, opening the door and ushering her into his room. "It's rather more...well. This is the circumstance I wished to discuss."

Charles helped Marianne into her seat and paced around the room. David and Marianne watched him: David calmly, but Marianne with growing anxiety.

Charles finally stopped and moved to stand in front of Marianne. "As the poet said, 'twere well it were done quickly. Briefly, then, I was born in 1776. I grew up in Dorsetshire and took a commission in His Majesty's army. I was engaged in fighting Napoleon's forces in Egypt when I fell and...well, I found myself here."

Marianne's eyes were big as saucers.

David coughed and stepped forward. "Colonel Brandon was discovered by an archeological expedition funded by this university. He was essentially frozen, though our scientists are still working on the details of what happened. I have photos and documentation if you would like to see them, or I could arrange for you to meet with the head of the dig if you would like a firsthand account."

Marianne turned her face to David. "And what's your role in all this?" she inquired carefully.

"I'm a graduate student here, studying Applied Sociology. My professor decided I should make myself useful by helping him acclimate to modern society," David replied.

"I see." Marianne looked at Charles again. "You're 200 years old?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Okay." Marianne stared into space for a few minutes, and then suddenly got up. "I just—I just need a minute. Is that okay?" she asked.

Charles stood frozen, looking at her pale face. "Of course."

Marianne nodded jerkily and moved towards the door. A moment later she was gone.

Charles looked at David. "What do I do?" he asked softly.

David shrugged. "Don't really know. Give her a minute, I guess."

Charles began pacing again. "Do I go after her?"

"Not immediately, at least. I guess you could in a couple of minutes."

They waited tensely. Sniffling noises filtered through the partially-open door. Eventually Charles could stand it no longer.

"I'm going after her," he muttered to David, heading towards the door.

In the hall, Charles found Marianne sitting on a bench a few doors down from his own room. Slowly he approached and sat at the opposite end of the bench.

"Are you well, Marianne?" he asked quietly.

Marianne raised her head and took a shaky breath. She didn't look at Charles. "I'm fine. It's just....it's everything, you know? I didn't expect you to be so much older than me, and I didn't expect you to be so serious, and now you're not even...you're from an entirely different world, and you d-didn't even want to dance with me!" Her voice broke, and she brought her hand to her face.

"I am sorry indeed that this is not what you expected," Charles replied gravely. "I know I have less to offer than many men of this time, and if you decide we would be best as platonic soulmates I will not blame you. But I must correct this misconception: I enjoyed dancing with you very much, Marianne. I have enjoyed being with you very, very much."

Marianne had calmed again, and now she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. "You seemed awfully reluctant to touch me, though," she pointed out.

Charles sighed deeply. "Believe me, Marianne, it was not from any lack of desire to touch you. I grew up - I come from a society with very different customs. I still feel dreadfully informal for not wearing gloves. I-I am not accustomed to dancing in that manner, but I assure you I enjoyed it very much."

Marianne looked sideways at him. "I suppose that makes sense."

Charles smiled briefly. "I am determined to accustom myself, I assure you. But I am afraid that I will need you to be more explicit than perhaps you are accustomed to being, in encouraging me to touch you as you desire."

Marianne blushed slightly and looked at the wall again. She picked up the pink crystal she wore in her necklace, rolling it between her fingers. After a minute, she spoke. "I'd like a hug, I think."

"A hug?" Charles asked.

Marianne turned her head to look at him. "Yes. Come over here and put your arm around me."

Charles rather stiffly followed her instructions. Marianne grabbed his hand to pull his arm into position, and leaned her head against his shoulder. They sat in silence, just breathing together.

"Well, you may be old and serious and not used to snuggling, but I admit I find it very comforting, being here with you," Marianne said quietly.

Charles smiled and hugged her a little tighter. "I'm glad."

"Is that why you wear the suits?" Marianne asked.

"It is. I know it is not the custom, but I feel half-dressed to be walking around in my shirt-sleeves. I will practice, if it is important to you."

"It....would help. But I do understand the feeling. We'll see."

After a moment, Marianne asked, "Where is your soulmark? You never showed it to me."

Charles tensed, then forced himself to relax. "It is on my upper arm. I—" He swallowed. "I will show you if you wish."

Marianne looked up at him, puzzled, but then her expression cleared. "This is a modesty thing again, isn't it?"

"It is. But the customs here are different. I will show you if you wish."

Marianne nodded. "I'd like to see. If it isn't too much for you."

Charles stood up and offered her his hand. "I said I would. But I'd rather show you in my room."

He led her back to his room. David had disappeared into the room he used as an office, and they could hear him typing. Charles led Marianne to a chair, and seated himself next to her.

He took off his jacket, and then paused. His soulmark was too high on his arm to roll up his sleeve, so he'd have to take off his shirt as well. "I'll have to take off my shirt," he said to Marianne, who was watching him. "Is that....Will that be acceptable?"

Marianne smiled and nodded. "Go ahead. Men are allowed to be shirtless now."

Charles swallowed but complied. It was rather unnerving, removing his clothing while she watched him so intently. But she didn't seem put off by his bare chest. If anything, she seemed to be blushing slightly.

He held out his arm to her. "There."

Marianne ran her fingers along the line of little figures. Charles shivered slightly at her touch. "I've heard of emoji soulmarks, but they're pretty rare. Of course, you must have been totally confused."

Charles swallowed and nodded. "I was an embarrassment to my parents because of it. We never spoke of it."

Marianne raised her eyes to look at his face. "I'm so sorry, Charles," she said softly, leaning forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Her head landed against his neck, and he put his free arm around her.

Charles knew he ought to respond, but he was overwhelmed by her nearness. Her warm skin against his back and shoulders and her soft hair against his neck filled his world. She smelled softly floral. He hadn't known that women of this time scented their hair.

After a moment, Marianne pulled back. "Mine is on my side," she said, lifting the hem of her top to show him his words. "Your handwriting is beautiful, by the way. I always had the prettiest soulmark when the girls compared them in school."

Charles stared.

"Aren't you going to touch them?" Marianne asked.

Charles blinked, but took a deep breath and slowly reached out. Reverently he traced his words on her skin. After a moment, he pulled back and she dropped the hem of her shirt.

They stared at each other, neither one sure what to say next. Then Marianne's stomach growled.

"Forgive me, I forgot to offer you lunch," Charles said, pulling out the sandwiches. "David ordered them, and I hope you enjoy his selection."

"I'm sure I will," Marianne replied, rising and moving towards the table. She paused, playing nervously with her necklace. "Charles?" she asked.

He turned back to her. "Yes?"

"I...I can't say anything for certain. Not yet. But...I don't think I will want us to be platonic soulmates."

Charles smiled at her. "I am glad to hear it, Marianne. Very glad indeed."


End file.
